Under the Shade of the Apple Tree
by Redemption Moon
Summary: Ken falls in a mission and he could no longer rely on his teammates. Under the shade of the apple tree, his fate is waiting for his sin. DARK ONESHOT. K x ?


**Waaaaaah! I reread it and saw SOOOO MANY errors so I decided to re-upload it. LOL. I feel stupid. **

**RM**: Hey there. Please just at least leave a message if you finished the story. Just a simple 'yes' or 'no' would do. I really need to know just how many people finished the story. But if you would like to comment further, please do. I tried to write differently on this piece and I'm not quite sure if it worked out as I intended to so please just drop a line to comment if you liked it and what I could improve.

**Note:** Italicized references to another person IS reference to Ken's lover. I had to italicize it to avoid confusion.

01.

To assassins, it is an accepted fact that an infinite number of things could go wrong on a mission. Little things like unexpected rain or car trouble or other such mundane things could be the death of one – or all.

Despite the fact that they always came prepared, checking and rechecking reliable weather forecasts, their getaway vehicles, the blueprints of every building they'll infiltrate and every street and sidestreet they'll pass or could possibly escape through, no one could stop the forces of nature nor the barbed threads of fate if and when they seek you out.

To Weiß, everything that _could have_ gone wrong that night... _did_.

Aya's car had overheated on the way to the mission venue and Ken's motorcycle had not made it in time from the repair shop. They had to rely on Yohji's Seven for getaway and the top obstinately refused to come up.

They never did like putting all the eggs in one basket, knowing that it would be easier to elude the police with more than one getaway vehicle, but they had no choice. It was too late to turn back now.

There was a light drizzle that had left the roads slicker than it should have been and the going was slow. A recent bout of vandalism had left many of the street lights out and unreplaced so most of the streets were bathed in ominous shadows.

Yohji's puffing on sticks of cigarette was a constant, his muttered cursing was just as consistent in his anger at getting drenched under the rain. Everyone else was quiet; their gloom matching the dismal weather.

If they had been superstitious, they would've recognized the proverbial black cat and turned home.

But Weiß was beyond superstition.

They were efficient assassins.

Ready to kill and be killed... most of the time.

In retrospect, they probably would've been better off had they been superstitious... then again, there really was no use crying over spilled milk... or spilled blood.

02.

Their charges had gone off earlier than expected- with Farfarello and Siberian still engaged in a bitter life and death battle inside.

Ken was bleeding already, his left leg dragging uselessly behind him, from a large diagonal gash. He could not dodge Farfarello's parries and cuts without falling – the exhaustion was almost too much to take, and he could see his breath coming out in steamy clouds. He had to lean onto a vat of chemicals to keep himself upright.

Farfarello had sustained some damage as well, his right brow had a bleeding cut, leaving him almost totally blind. His arm had multiple lacerations from the blades of Ken's bugnuks but he acted as if they were not there at all.

The truth was, Ken had just come from a bout with flu a week before and he probably had not been able to fully recover as of yet... but stubborn as he was, he had obstinately insisted on coming along. It was a handicap for him.

The Irishman had a wicked sense of smell, and amidst the blood and the pungent stench of hybrid chemicals, he honed in on Ken with deadly accuracy. Like a wolf onto a jackrabbit. He was about to pounce; but fate's thread had wrapped itself around him, stopping him from finishing the job.

If he only knew that fate had other plans...

A deep rumble issuing from the bowels of the 30-floor edifice stopped them in their tracks. Metal pillars whined their protest as the ground shook and the ceiling swayed dangerously above them. The building looked like a child's flimsy toy rather than solid rock and cement.

The lights flickered on and off, offering a feeble complaint against the darkness before one by one wavering and dying away.

The sound of explosions were muffled, as if coming from so far away... but the truth was, it came from just a few feet away.

Debris started to crash everywhere, landing closer and closer to the two injured gladiators. A white knight and a black warrior, both wounded and bleeding.

The night would decide who would emerge champion.

The single remaining light bulb finally extinguished, engulfing the basement in total darkness.

_So the black warrior had won tonight._

Ken smiled bitterly.

_The darkness had won out... as it always did._

The night did not give him enough time to dwell on this thought.

Ken had spun on his heels in time to glean the dark shadow of heavy chunks of rubble collapsing.

His last sensation was that of contact with the unyielding cement and his last conscious thought was that Berserker had won over him.

A numbness spread as debris from the dying building came hurtling down to crush him.

03.

Apples. His dreams always smelled of apples.

He loved apples in any dish or dessert. He loved the taste, the sight and the smell of it. Perhaps in his subconscious, he also savored its infamous reputation for being the forbidden fruit.

Sweet poison.

Then again, the person who always met him in his dreams was also forbidden fruit.

"_Hello Ken. Wait for me. I'll be coming for you... for sure."_

04.

The rest of the Weiß team had found him lying in a pool of his own blood just outside of the chemical factory. His eyes were wide open, unseeing, his clothes soaked with the stench of chemical odor.

For a moment there, they had thought that he was dead.

05.

No one had really figured out how he had escaped from the building. It seemed that he had buried the memories deep into his subconscious that he really couldn't dredge it up even if he wanted to.

They thought that maybe he had found a way through the basement halls, or maybe he was already on the way out when the explosions commenced.

They really couldn't say.

That was just one of their theories. Then again, it never really mattered, just as long as he was safe... or so they had thought.

06.

They had to take him to the hospital that night.

A real hospital.

The Kritiker clinic had just taken a big hit the week before and their covert operatives had died during the fire. Most of their commissioned doctors had been on duty that night and they had no one with enough experience left.

Manx had found a way to register him into the city hospital's ward, cutting through all the red tape with her magic.

They had wheeled his battered bloody body through the emergency room and never emerged again. There'd be too many questions with too many witnesses. There were too many of those as it is.

Manx had sent them back to the Koneko to fix themselves up anyway.

07.

The first few nights caught Ken between life and death. They said that he had lost too much blood and had sustained a very bad infection that spread faster than it should have.

He had 'stabilized' on the fifth day. He had lost a lot of weight and looked very gaunt to his teammates when they were finally allowed to visit him.

The ICU was a scary place really, with all those machines beeping and blinking. It reminded Omi of a computer network of some alien spaceship.

Too impersonal and really horrible – it was too devoid of life.

And yet Ken was in the middle of it all- hooked to every machine and every contraption like a broken puppet.

He looked like a dead man to them... a corpse that they couldn't really recognize, but they had swallowed it all. Ken was Ken. He was their friend, the life of Weiß whether or not they cared to admit.

Aya stood there, his arms crossed over his orange turtleneck sweater. Ken had always openly joked about it and he'd make fun of him so often that he never wore it after the first three or four times. He wore it tonight, secretly hoping that it would make Ken feel better, just getting him to look _alive_ was what Aya wanted. He knew how hard it was to crawl out of death. He'd been there, he'd done that.

Aya didn't want Ken to die.

Aya was human too. And he cared.

Ken always pissed him off, but he cared.

08.

It took all of Omi's energy to smile like nothing was wrong. The reserves of his emotional strength had been drained during the course of the week as they waited for news of Ken's condition and it was only willpower that made him beam the way he did. "Ne, Ken-kun! Momoe-san said that she wanted to see you back! She had baked you some cookies but they wouldn't let us bring it in!" It sounded artificial even to his own ears.

Omi huffed in mock annoyance before continuing. "Oh, and the girls have been looking for you, they sent you some chocolates when we told them you have the flu but again..."

" They wouldn't let us bring it in!" Chimed in Yohji with an unusually bright smile. The taller blond had been standing next to Omi, a pack of cigarettes in one hand and the other buried in his coat pocket. It was clenched so tightly that his bloodless knuckles had turned white.

He still blamed himself for what had happened. He was Ken's partner for that mission and it had been him who had put on the charges.

He thought that he had made a mistake in setting the timer. He had thought that Ken was already on his way out. He'd replay that night a thousand times over and over every time he'd lie on his bed, staring at the shadows dancing on his ceiling...

Maybe that was why he never got a decent night's sleep since then.

The pack of cigarettes was crumpling under his grip sending the ash-like nicotine to cling onto the fabric.

" Hey Ken, let's go out drinking when you get out of this place. I know this great bar where they show old soccer championships. The owner used to be a J-Leaguer too."

Yohji wanted to do a million things in that moment... that single moment.

He wanted to run and shake Ken silly. He wanted to bury his head into Ken's shoulder and apologize for putting his life in danger. He wanted to walk on his knees and beg for Ken's forgiveness. He wanted to take a gun and shoot himself right there.

But most of all, he wished for the power to turn back time, to make him the way he was.

Ken only stared at him, his lips parted as his breath whooshed in and out of his mask.

Sitting there, his eyes glazed open, his head partly lolled to the side, slouched against a stack of pillows... Ken really did look dead.

But he was still breathing.

They could all _hear_ it.

09.

They visited him daily. One by one they came at their self-appointed time, sitting at his bedside for half an hour or so.

They'd read to him, talk to him. Omi would even sometimes bring a small radio and sing along.

Ken never spoke. He'd just stare at some point in the distance like a man lost in a dream.

None of them could bear to stay for more than an hour.

It broke them down.

The life had gone out of Ken and they couldn't take it.

On the fifteenth day, not a single one of them came.

10.

Three days later, Ken was moved to a normal care unit. The infection had gotten worse, creeping up his leg, but they said that his life was out of danger.

The drugs were really painful. They were administered more times in a day than his teammates had come to visit him in the past week.

11.

The nurses were really nice. They'd talk to him for hours at a time about little nothings and endearing nonsense.

It was strange but maybe that was what brought him back.

He needed some warmth and the imaginary world he had been living in for almost three weeks offered no comfort... just temporary shelter from the cruel reality.

No one was there but him.

He was alone, under the shade of the apple tree.

He had waited and waited but no one came.

No one had come. He was alone.

He hated it.

So he came back.

12.

On the twenty-first day, a nurse had given him an apple. She said that she thought he had once mentioned that he liked apples.

She had brought him his lunch and patiently fed him like a child. His arms had been burnt by the chemicals, through a gash in his clothes and he didn't like seeing them.

They reminded him so much of the Irishman who almost killed him.

So she'd feed him his lunch daily, just so that he wouldn't have to use his damaged arms.

Her name was Nuriko, so close to that of the girl he once loved...

He looked like a monster and yet she liked him somehow.

He never knew why, but she'd tell him that he was nice despite the fact that he'd rarely say anything to her... or anyone else for that matter.

When she gave him the apple, he smiled. For the first time, he gave a small smile.

He loved apples.

13.

He didn't know how it happened.

One moment, he was feeling fine and the next he was throwing up over the place.

He felt the bile rising up his throat, and he tasted the bitter acid in his mouth. Nurse Nuriko gave a startled yelp as she jumped to her feet.

The world was starting to spin now.

Around and around like a kite that had lost its tail. He felt his stomach heaving, he felt everything coming out until he had nothing left to give.

He gagged, almost choking on his own tongue.

She looked at him; afraid, then she ran out to get a doctor.

Angry at his weakness, he swept his arm violently across the tray on his lap, sending everything clattering to the walls and the floor.

The apple tumbled off his blanket and plummeted to the floor and promptly split into two.

He sat there, gasping desperately for breath. His lungs were burning! God, it was so painful!

" Hello Ken. I've come for you."

He knew that voice.

His grey eyes cleared for a moment as he slowly raised them up, wiping the corner of his lip with his sleeve.

_He_ had not changed.

Of course what did he expect? They hadn't been apart that long... but to Ken, waiting under the shade of the apple tree had seemed like an eternity, a whole lifetime of loneliness...

It took him a long time to find his voice. He was so unused to speaking that like a child it was as if he was learning how to speak his first words.

" You... never came."

His voice, his visitor thought, sounded so scratchy. So unlike the singsong quality that was just so full of energy.

The white shoes stepped closer, melding and camouflaging into the pristine floor as if they were a part of it.

" I couldn't leave. They were watching me."

" I was waiting for you... under the apple tree." Ken fell back against the pillows, suddenly exhausted. He had wasted enough energy and just speaking was an effort for him.

" I was there. Every moment, I was with you. But I didn't want you to see me because I knew you'd never go back here." _His_ eyes looked so tender as _he_ watched Ken. Was it true that _he_ loved him?

Ken felt ashamed, sitting there with all the filth, unable to move, unable to do anything. He felt like trash that nobody needed.

He felt his scars biting him, the ragged ribbons of marred flesh burnt him in reminder of their existence.

He felt like a monster.

" You should have just come for me there. I was normal there. I'm a monster here."

" You're not a monster. I don't love you because you're – 'normal'."

Ken's heart thawed somewhat at that, his eyes closing slowly... he couldn't fight off the sleep that threatened to engulf him.

_He was just so tired..._

He was asleep soon enough.

He never felt the kiss on his forehead nor heard the words "I'll be back for you."

In the other world, he was back under the shade of the apple tree just... waiting.

14.

_He_ had come back.

_He'd_ always come under the cover of the night... long after visiting hours were done and over with.

Ken never knew why _he_ feared the day so much, then again, he never really understood many things.

Ken never did know that _he_ blamed _himself_ that Ken was the way he was now. He never realized that all that time, _he'd_ be lurking around the vicinity of the hospital endlessly berating _himself_ for not being to save Ken in time, before anything like this ever happened.

Ken stared at _him_ searchingly, " Why do you keep on coming back? I'm worthless now. Even my teammates don't think I'm worth their time."

_He'd_ look at Ken with a smile and brush _his_ fingers against Ken's hair. "It's because I love you." And then _he'd_ slice an apple for Ken.

The silence between them was never uncomfortable.

Life was strange that way.

15.

On the first month of his hospital stay, Ken's leg infection had festered.

He was nauseated most of the time and they had to move him back to the ICU.

They said they didn't know what made him sick. They didn't know why the infection was getting worse. All they knew was that the medication wasn't working and they had to cut off the leg.

They wheeled him into the operating room the next day; and Ken didn't know how exactly _he_ managed it, but _he_ was there standing right beside him as they wheeled him inside.

With Ken under sedation, they had talked under the apple tree for hours.

16.

The operation was not a success.

They had not killed the infection. In fact, with the leg gone, it had nowhere else to go but up.

Losing the leg was almost like dying for Ken, but having _him_ standing there always kept him alive. It gave him the will to live.

The way _he'd_ hold Ken's hand like the scars weren't there, the way _he'd_ smile. It kept Ken alive and hoping against hope for a future... some kind of future... any kind of future as long as they were together.

And now they tell him that the infection was spreading. It was eating up his internal organs.

He always had that theory that it was the chemicals that made him sick.

It was probably true, knowing the dark nature of the purpose for which it was being developed. But he couldn't exactly tell them that.

He couldn't tell them that he was an assassin who had met an accident in a killer drug warehouse.

He was dying and he knew it.

He felt his organs deteriorating.

It was harder to breathe, to speak, to eat.

It was harder to do anything now.

He had no choice.

He asked _him_ if _he_ could perform euthanasia. To end his misery. It didn't matter how _he_ did it. It didn't matter if the pain was terrible.

Ken needed to die.

He knew he was being selfish. But the pain was too great and even those moments

under the apple tree were now haunted by the shadows. He had no refuge and he wanted eternal sleep. He was just... too... tired.

"Please..." He had begged.

_Please... let me die... I can't live like this anymore..._

And _he_ just stared at him, not speaking.

_He_ stood there for hours, unmoving.

_He_ waited for Ken to fall asleep.

And then _he_ walked away.

17.

Ken tried to commit suicide that day.

He had taken the blunted bread knife from his breakfast and suffered through the half-hour of anguish it took to break the skin of his wrist.

There was blood everywhere. You never really can tell how much blood a person has even if he looks so frail... Ken looked like he didn't have any more blood to give... but blood was everywhere, soaking every surface of everything within his vicinity.

Everyone was there at once. People shouted and yelled to one another and his room was like a hive of overactive bees.

It was deafening.

And _he_ was just there in the opposite room, curled up against the wall. _His_ head buried in _his_ knees as _he_ listened to everything... rocking _himself_ back and forth like a lost child.

18.

They were able to save Ken. He had been put under sedation immediately and wheeled him back to the ICU with constant surveillance.

_He_ knew no amount of persuasion could get _him_ in there, not with Ken under crtitical condition.

_He_ didn't want to see Ken anyway. Not just yet.

For the first time in more than a decade, _he_ had gone to a priest and said confession.

_He_ told the priest what he planned to do but the priest had said that it would be a mistake, that _he'd_ be committing an unforgivable sin.

_He_ had smiled at that.

_What irony._

19.

Ken was awake when _he_ came back. The beautiful grey eyes, once so full of life were glazed and dull, they stared at _him_ so full of distrust.

_He_ had been selfish too. _He_ hadn't tried to understand how Ken felt. All _he_ had cared about was that _he_ wanted Ken to stay.

For a moment _he_ stared at Ken's wrist, fascinated by the blood soaking into them. Someone had done a sloppy job of treating them and hadn't allowed the blood to clot.

_He'd_ be sure to send _his_ annoyance at that... after _he_ did what should be done.

" Hello there." _He_ said. His voice warm. It was as if they were having a tryst, hiding from their teammates.

The tears were blurring _his_ vision now. Ken was swimming, swimming in an endless

pool of their combined misery.

Ken had not replied. He was too weak. _You weren't here. You didn't help me._

"I'm sorry, love. I'm so sorry."

_He_ held Ken in _his_ arms. The boy was so frail... he was just too young to die... but _he_ knew letting him live would be cruel.

And _he_ loved Ken enough to know when to let go.

It broke _his_ heart, but _he_ knew _he_ had to let go _now_.

Fate really had a twisted sense of humor.

"I love you Ken. I love you so much it hurts. Why did you have to let me see how beautiful you are?" _His_ voice was breaking, shattering.

_His_ tears felt hot as _he_ clutched the bony hand in _his_. _He_ could feel _his_ heart splintering and cracking - but _he_ had no choice.

It was red and elongated. Just a tiny capsule really. They said that Ken would not feel a thing. It was tasteless and odorless.

It was the color of a ripe apple, like the fruit that tempted the first humans to sin.

Ken would not suffer.

_His_ hands shook when _he_ snapped it free from its foil casing. Ken licked his lips cracked lips in anticipation, his eyes brighter in that moment than it had ever been ever since the day the ruin happened. He realized the mercy that was being bestowed upon him.

_I love you Ken... so much it hurts..._

Ken had not replied, but his eyes spoke volumes.

_I love you more. I'll be waiting for you... under the apple tree. I'll wait for you until you come._

_He_ was weeping uncontrollably now. Mourning even before _his_ beloved had even gone. _He_ just loved Ken so much.

" Goodbye love. I'll come along soon enough." _He_ said, his eyes warm and reassuring. His grip calm and steadying. He wanted to guide Ken to the other side... to protect him from all the evils that might be lurking in the darkness.

Ken gave a feeble smile. A smile that contained the world and nothing. It was a smile of love and forgiveness. A smile of promise and regret.

It seemed like an eternity when he downed that tiny pill. It was all _he_ could do to try and stop him from swallowing it – to keep him alive.

"Thank you." Ken had said in a whisper, that last flickering moment.

_I love you Schuldich._

And he was gone.

Gone to a land that smelled sweet with grass and sunshine.

_The candle's flame could not withstand the storm._

It was in paradise that he belonged, one that Schuldich knew he deserved.

He doubted he could follow Ken there.

The priest had looked at him with so much pity. If only he knew how many lives he had already taken._ "Killing is a sin, my son. Even if a person asks for it, God will never forgive you for murder." _

_What irony. _

He never expected to go to heaven anyway. Ken was as close to there as he could get.

And now he had to let Ken go.

It was his sacrifice.

Then again, Ken had always been forbidden fruit. Ken was his sweet poison.

His absolution, his damnation.

Ken was his sin and salvation.

_I love you Ken. So much it hurts... so please... just wait for me. Sooner or later, I'll meet you there... under the shade of the apple tree._

And the tears could never stop.

He had fallen again and now he had been cast out... but somehow, he'd find his way back in... back into paradise.

† † †

**RM :** I worked on this for half a day in three sittings, just forgetting about it for a few hours so I could make necessary corrections. For once it's semi-beta-ed (by myself of course) so unlike my previous writings.

**Anendee :** I'm sorry! I've been meaning to mail you ages ago but as usual, life had interfered! Anyway, what I meant to say was that you are more than welcome to pick up Car Crash where I left off. The truth is, I'm really curious where you're going to take it. I've already written out a tentative sequel but I'd really really like to see where someone else takes what I've written so go on ahead! XD Just message me when you've posted your sequel so I can post _my_ sequel. (although I'm very much inclined to think that people will like your sequel more because I really chopped it up. I didn't want to elaborate much because I really intended for someone else to write the introspection on the other teammates and Schuldich. All I really wanted is to show how it ended.

Sorry for the long message, lol. Life has really been mean to me lately... and it doesn't help that my modem broke down just a few days ago. (I'm posting this in school! Bad RM! Bad!)


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